


the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view (and we'll live a long life)

by voidify



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bonding over trauma, Crying, Depression, Don’t say I didn’t warn you, F/M, Gen, Grief, Hope, Love, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Canonical Major Character Death, Post-Canon, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, and discussion thereof, discussion of past child abuse and the psychological impact thereof, ie all of the deaths and sads of canon have happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 19:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20681012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voidify/pseuds/voidify
Summary: For a moment, the grief of the barricade almost becomes too much for Marius to endure. Fortunately, Cosette understands.





	the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view (and we'll live a long life)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from “Ghosts That We Knew” by Mumford & Sons. Like most of the band’s songs, it does indeed have Valvert energy— and if I wanted to, I _could_ have written a fic for my post-seine series with this title. However, I’ve realised it also works for this pairing in a bittersweet post-canon context, and I’d been considering a Marius crisis fic in the back of my mind ever since I read the fic by Rhenaes where a Sad Version happened offscreen. So, I wrote this!
> 
> This is not ventfic, and has a happy (well, “preserving the tiny window of happiness Vicky left us”, at least) ending. However, I do have depression, and a lot of the thought process descriptions and stuff were influenced by past personal experience, so I feel like I need to warn that there is a risk that some stuff in this fic might hit too close to home. I can’t stop you from reading it, and indeed for some it might even be useful for coping, but please heed the tags and read responsibly.
> 
> Thanks to onegaymore for beta and cheerleading!

Spring, 1834. The Pontmercy household. An otherwise uneventful night.

It was three in the morning, or thereabouts. Cosette was fast asleep. Next to her, Marius seemed to be asleep too— but he was not. He had not truly slept all night; whenever a wink of it came to him, nightmares of the barricades would fill his mind and wake him once more. The last few nights had been similar in this respect. Still, he had hidden it from Cosette— how could he trouble his wife with such things? No, he had not spoken to her of this pain, of this affliction that troubled his mind, at all since they had wed. But concealing these things only allowed them to consume him further. At this moment, his mind was roiling, _entirely_ consumed with the unshakeable sense that he had failed his friends— that he should have died along with them— that they were calling to him. 

Marius slowly got out of bed, careful not to wake Cosette. Drained of all but the most mechanical movement, driven only by the strange impulse that had come to him, he walked down the hallway to the study. 

He sat at the desk, and removed a wooden box from one of the drawers. From the box, he took a pistol. 

As Marius held the gun in his hands, he remembered that it was one of the pair that Javert had lent him. He had kept them around— originally, he intended to return them, but then the news came out, and it seemed disrespectful to discard the property of a dead man. Of… _Javert…_ perhaps this was fitting, in some strange way…

But, if he was to— well, Marius supposed he must write something. Something to _explain_. He took some letter paper from the desk and tried to begin. 

_Dear Cosette,_

…He did not know what to write. 

_He did not know what to write._ What could he possibly put on paper that would explain to Cosette— that could go any fraction of the way to describe his pain— that could even infinitesimally help her to come to terms when she is woken by the shot and goes to the study to see her husband dead with his brains splattered on the wall— oh God, how could he do that to her— but how could he continue like this— but _how_ could—

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of the study door opening. 

“Marius?”

Cosette looked almost ethereally beautiful, standing there in the doorway in her nightgown, lit by the moonlight from the window, her chestnut hair unbound. “My dear…”

“I woke to see you gone. I…” then, her gaze flickered to the pistol that rested on the desk. Marius’ stomach fell. “_Marius…_”, she almost whispered, her voice all confusion and concern and _hurt_. 

“Cosette, I…” he could not explain in speech any better than in writing. Immediately, he regretted all of it— how could he even _consider_ such a thing, to leave her a widow at barely nineteen years of age— how could he be such a fool— tears began to form in his eyes—

She was nearer to him, now, on the other side of the desk, and tears were forming in her eyes too, as she looked into his. He rushed to explain; he was scarcely coherent, but she _had_ to be wondering _why_— “I am sorry— please do not think that you— that you are at fault in the slightest— I— it is—” how could he possibly— “My friends,” he managed to say— and the truth all began to spill out. “From the barricade. They— they call to me. They haunt me. They all died that day and yet I lived— I cannot—” he noticed that the tears had begun to roll down his cheeks, but he could not stop speaking— “I failed them, Cosette. How can I continue— I was the least worthy— and the dreams haunt me, oh God, the dreams—” he was vaguely aware that he was babbling— “The grief, the guilt— I could not— …I thought I could not withstand it any longer. Of course, I will not— follow through— not now… —not _after_ now either!— but… that is… that is _why_, I suppose.”

All of a sudden, Marius realised the pistol was still on the desk. With trembling hand, but ensuring it remained pointed away from him and his wife (…was it even loaded? He truly had not thought this through at all), he placed it back in the box, which he shut firmly. He had been honest, just then— the impulse was truly past; no matter how much pain life might entail, he could not bear to die. Now, all that remained was the regret of having had the impulse in the first place— and the impossible need to explain to Cosette. “I— I am sorry. No young woman should have to see her husband like this…”

“It is better than being too late.”

“I— yes.” He sighed. “But I— I do not know how to explain— why I would ever— how even such a past could drive me to—”

“But I understand.”

Marius blinked. 

“I understand—these feelings.” She took a steadying breath as she moved around the desk; now, she was half-sitting on it, directly before Marius. “I have told you of Thénardier’s cruelty.”

“Yes.” And oh God, did Marius regret ever paying a sou to that man. No inherited life-debt could possibly outweigh what he now knew that man had done to Cosette— and that was if Thénardier had even truly rescued Marius’ father, which the more Marius heard of Thénardier, the more he doubted. Hopefully a painful death awaited Thénardier in the New World. One cannot take money along to Hell. 

Cosette continued. “Well, I have never told anyone about this before, but— after some time there, I began to have— I began to wonder if life was worth it.” Her voice cracked. “I was— I was six years old when this began, Marius. Only a child.”

For a moment, she could not speak for emotion. Marius’ mind first rushed to a place of guilt— _how dare _I_, when she, at such a young_— but no, that could not be what Cosette wanted him to take from it. He was not entirely sure what she _did_ want, but this was not the time to ask— instead, he did what he knew he could: he put his arms around her, and held her for as long as she needed. 

After some time, she was able to speak again. 

“I had no— opportunity, though. Well, if I ever did, the distant hope of my mother’s return pulled me back. Of course, she never _did_ return, but then there was Papa…”

Cosette fell silent. _Her father_— she and Marius were both still in mourning for him. 

“But— this is all to say— I understand how you feel. I know the dark place you are in— I know how it is to feel… hopeless. And… I know how it is to be haunted by the past— I doubt I will ever forget the years I spent at that inn. So I do not expect you to explain any more. Or to apologise. And— I do not expect you to promise to never think such thoughts again— only that, if you do, you must share it with me before anything else.”

“Cosette…” Marius knew not what to say. ‘Sorry’ was certainly the wrong thing— ‘thank you’ did not seem entirely right either—

“I love you,” was what he settled on. “And— and if _you _ever need to confide in _me_, about anything— please, do.”

“I love you too. We have both suffered so much in our lives— all I hope is that we might find peace, happiness, with each other. That the ghosts of the past can fade, someday, and no matter how distant that day might be, that we can both live on for as long as God allows.”

“I hope the same.”

“And you will get through this. _We_ will. I love you. _I love you._” She paused, a faint smile curling on her lips. “And…” she took his hand and placed it on her stomach, “our children will love you, too.” 

Marius blinked. “You…”

“Yes.” Cosette smiled, eyes glistening. 

And then, Marius was weeping in earnest, but it was not of sorrow, not at all, and he was hugging Cosette tight, and she was hugging him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are great, but comments are EVEN GREATER; I treasure any and all reader feedback, so _please_ leave it if you can!!!


End file.
